Old Magic (16 page)

“I don’t share your enthusiasm,” Jarrod replies cynically. “I can hardly think of anything worse. I enjoy history too. It’s my favorite subject. But living it? I’ll be glad if we make it back in one piece.”

I try to lighten his mood, “Don’t be so morbid, Jarrod. Remember, we’re going back to do a job, not rally an army and invade a country. We may even enjoy the experience . . . if the magic works, of course,” I add, airing my doubts.

“Well,” Jillian says, opening the back door and letting in a gust of pure icy wind. “Let’s see for ourselves, shall we?”

We follow Jillian into the forest. She heads straight for the creek, I know exactly the spot. It’s my favorite place, where I attempted the cleansing spell on Jarrod. It’s also the place where I was conceived many years ago, so my link to this particular part of the forest is strong. Jillian knows this. It’s why she’s chosen this spot.

We carry little with us, except the medieval clothes we’re wearing, and a box that has Jillian’s equipment. I wonder what strength and form of magic this will take.

I have to lift my skirts high off the ground not to trip over the broken logs, hanging vines, and jutting roots. But eventually we arrive and Jillian makes us sit on an overturned log while she prepares the area. It’s dark so we’re using a flashlight, but it won’t be for long. Jillian carefully lays out a hundred short white candles in a circle large enough for two. When the circle is complete she stands back, closes her eyes, and concentrates. Her hands stretch out and I hear a dull hum. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Jarrod’s reaction. I’ve seen Jillian do this a hundred times, but each time the thrill is the same. Jarrod is mesmerized, watching Jillian. He can tell something very special is about to happen. The sense of it surrounds us.

Jillian begins to chant in Latin, and though it’s very dark, we see her clearly. She is glowing softly, her skin a golden hue that seems to come from inside, like she’s creating her own unique energy. Suddenly she stops chanting, her eyes fly open, and Jarrod gasps. They’re glowing bright red.

“Kate?” His whisper is sheer panic.

“Relax,” I whisper back.

And then it happens. One hundred candles ignite, simultaneously. There’s no smoke, just leaping blue flames that soon settle into small gold ones. The air is electric.

The small spell complete, the circle cast and protected, Jillian’s eyes return to their normal dark blue and she turns to us, keen to get on with it. “There are some important things you must remember.” She draws out of the box two necklaces, strung from leather, and puts one around each of our necks. “Protect these with your lives, their power combined will return you home swiftly.”

Jarrod nods and catches my eye, remembering my earlier brief explanation but needing to know more. “What are they exactly?”

“The amulets are a combination of elements of the forest. I’ve been very lucky to obtain the unborn fetuses of twin marsupial mice. Their mother was hit by the car of a camper the other night. They brought her to me, but she had already died. There was no way to save these developing fetuses. That’s when it occurred to me. They were conceived in the forest and robbed of their right to live in it. But their non-births will not be in vain. One has been forged with the sap of the oldest tree, the other with sap extracted from one of the new seedlings. So now they are both encased in amber crystal. Don’t doubt their abilities; together they are a strong bond.”

My fingers wrap around the amulet with reverence for a long moment. Jarrod is staring at his, as if trying to make out the shape inside the amber crystal. He hasn’t got a chance, the fetuses are too small. Finally we tuck them inside our clothes, close to our skin.

“Do not take anything more than absolutely necessary from this world into the past,” Jillian warns. And pointing to Jarrod’s watch she says, “Especially these.” He unclasps the black leather strap of his watch, then pulls out his glasses.

“I’ll miss those,” he remarks, pointing to the glasses.

His worry has me wondering how much he relies on them to move around. I know he needs them for reading, but in the past, I doubt this will cause too much of a problem. And though he wears them a lot, I’ve seen him walking around without them plenty of times.

Jarrod runs a hand down the front of his tunic. “What about these clothes? They look authentic, but—”

“They’ll be fine,” Jillian says confidently. “They’re hand-stitched and hand-dyed from the same quality of fabric that was around in those days.” Her voice hardens. “But remember this: If you make an implement to help you, then destroy it before you leave. When in the past you must publicly use only the knowledge and wisdom known to that era and nothing more. I’m relying on you, Kate, you’ve studied medieval history in great depth, so you will understand what’s right and what’s wrong here. Do you both understand this warning?”

We nod: We are to complete a task, not bring future technology into the past. We have to be careful about this.

Jillian sorts through her box and returns with a ring for each of us. She slips one on my ring finger, a ruby set in antique gold. Jarrod’s is similar, except solid gold, no gem, just three interlocking bands. “They’re both worth a lot, but don’t worry, if you need money, use them.”

I stare at our hands: Jarrod’s are strangely calm, mine are trembling. He remains unaffected by what we’re doing. Which is odd for Jarrod. Worry, I realize, for his family, has overtaken his natural reluctance to believe. This is what Jillian sensed, why she judged it a good time to go ahead. Tomorrow he could be his usual disbelieving self.

“Also,” Jillian continues seriously. “By all accounts, Jarrod, you come from a wealthy family, a king’s knight no less. The clothes you both wear fit that nobility status. But I’m not confident where you two will end up, how far from the family estate. Though these clothes give you social standing, the peasants may scorn you. If you end up in a village, a poor village at that, you will have to be extremely careful, find appropriate clothing so that you don’t stand out.”

There is a lot to remember. I hope none of it is lost during the course of the transposition spell.

“What about our language, how will we communicate?” Jarrod asks.

Jillian smiles at this, and I know she is remembering Jarrod’s perfect enunciation when he read her ancient manuscript. I’m glad now, as this night suddenly becomes frighteningly real, that I took the time and effort to learn the ancient tongue myself. “Don’t worry about that, there’s enough magic here tonight to refresh your language skills.”

But Jarrod remains unconvinced. “I don’t know, Jillian. How can you do that? Suddenly make me understand and speak a foreign language?”

“Don’t you think that if I can weave magic strong enough to take you physically back, it might also be strong enough to refresh the ancient language skills that are already inside you? This magic, Jarrod, will strengthen your link with the past, including the skills you already have. Trust me, and trust yourself, everything will fall into place.”

She hugs us both and tears shimmer in her eyes that she quickly blinks away. Finally she steps back and indicates the ring of burning golden flames. We step into the circle at her direction, carefully protecting our clothes. We turn to face Jillian but Jarrod has more questions. “How is this magic going to work? Will we feel anything?”

“I will draw on the elements of earth and nature, to power the link which is already established by the curse.”

“I don’t have to wear dirt, and drink the creek again, do I?” he asks distastefully.

Jillian spins me a startled look; heat tears up my spine. “You tried a cleansing spell, Kate?”

I play with a fold in my full skirt. “It was better than contemplating suicide.”

Jillian’s eyebrows lift almost to her hairline as her eyes shift to Jarrod.

“Let’s not get into that,” he mumbles.

“Do you have any more questions?” Jillian asks softly. We shake our heads. “Then let’s begin by learning the words you’ll need to recite when ready to return home. They shouldn’t be too hard to remember.” She takes a deep breath and says, “Ad silvam redire.”

It’s Latin.

“It just means, ‘Return to the forest,’” Jillian explains.

“But the amulets must be together as one, or it won’t work.”

We repeat the short chant several times, until Jillian is happy the words are carved into our brains.

“Good,” she says, pleased with our progress. “Now I want you to start breathing slowly and deeply.”

We remain quiet and still, breathing as Jillian requests, deeply from our abdomens. Jarrod takes my hand into his. It’s cold yet steady. “See you in the borderlands of England,” he whispers. “And I hope those Scots are behaving themselves.”

I nod, and try not to think about neighborhood squabbles or what period in history we are entering. Unconsciously my mouth moves with Jillian’s words. She calls on the elements individually to work their magic, starting with air and earth, ending with the circle of fire surrounding us. There is power in her voice and deep emotion.

She follows this with a few specially selected ancient words. As she murmurs the enchantment the short white candles explode into screaming blue flames, leaping and thrusting into the air as high as our bodies. Heat and energy tear at me, dance through me, fighting a battle with every one of my cells.

I cling to Jarrod as blue fire swirls around us, knowing at this moment that Jillian’s spell will work.

A crushing feeling starts in my head. My hands begin shaking uncontrollably, quickly spreading. Jarrod’s body is also shaking; his grip on my arms punishing. My nails dig into his back.

Something is happening really fast now. The crushing in my head grows with such intensity I think my mind is going to explode. I lean right into Jarrod’s chest, his head comes down over the top of mine, shaking violently. Then a pulling starts, almost gently at first, as if my body is turning liquid and someone is sucking me upward, into a spinning rainbow chasm. The pace accelerates, and with it the colors. They become vivid, almost blinding in strength, obscure in pattern. Color becomes my world. It is everywhere. Floating. Swirling. Spinning. My body seems to stretch beyond the norm of what blood, bones, and tissue are supposedly capable of doing. A thought occurs that I will never live through this. It saddens me.

It is the last thought I have.

JOURNEY

Kate

Twenty Leagues South of the Border of Scotland with England The Village of Thorntyne, 1252

Everything aches. From my toes to the very roots of my hair. My head particularly feels as if it exploded and was frantically put back together, with the bits not quite matching. I’m lying on my back, skirts hitched up to my thighs, small rocks poking into my back. Stunned, I tenderly run fingers over my face to check the condition of my head. It is, apparently, all there.

“K-kate?”

I hear Jarrod through the fog in my slowly reawakening brain, but it’s a distant sound. I lift my head and open my eyes. Night is descending, but it’s only a guess. I’m totally disoriented.

I remember now what happened. Jillian linked us, through the curse, with the past. For a second my heart stops. It must have worked!

Sitting up, I look eagerly around and can hardly believe what I see. For one thing the rain forest is nowhere! I’m sitting on a road that is really no more than a worn dirt track. One end disappears into woodland for a while, but I pick it up again as the landscape starts rising toward a headland in the distance. There are buildings that look like they might be made of stone taking up the whole top point. Could it be a castle? I wonder at this in awe.

Peering at this landscape I make out two peaks with an ocean beyond. I can smell it. There’s a mist coming in, and it’s salty on my lips. The second peak of this strange-looking landscape stretches away across to another jutting headland, and it too has a building on it, but it’s getting too dark to make out any features.

If those two buildings are stone keeps—castles!—then Jillian’s magic was dead on.

As I think about this my body starts repairing itself, so I try standing, carefully, my head doing a slow throb, and look for Jarrod. We must have been thrown apart somehow during the leap. He’s alive though, I did hear him.

“Jarrod?” I spin around on this dirt road and take in the different view. Here there are fields divided into long strips. Some have been recently ploughed, others have crops that look as if they’ve been roughly hacked at.

As I stand contemplating, Jarrod comes up beside me, brushing dirt off his tunic. “Where do you think we are?”

I glance up at him, his negative attitude, as always, leaves me bewildered. His gray tunic is covered in dirt all over one side, right up to his face. I help him get some of it off.

“Can you believe it?” I say as the throbbing in my head eases and excitement replaces it. “We’re here, Jarrod! In medieval Britain! Where else do you think?”

His head comes up, his eyes narrow as his gaze does a full 360-degree circle, pausing for a second on the distant buildings, like he’s assessing them. “I have no idea. We could be anywhere.”

“Come on, Jarrod, have some faith.” My mind starts spinning, not with pain now but adrenalin. Excitement accelerates, making me light-headed. I start laughing, dancing around in circles, lifting my skirts, brushing the dirt out of them with a couple of good shakes. “This is so unbelievable! I’m the luckiest person who ever lived!”

Jarrod’s face creases in a deep frown, his eyes flat and unemotional. I want to probe his mind, feel what he is feeling. But it isn’t necessary, I guess. He’s been distraught ever since his father’s attempted suicide, worried like hell about his family. But he’s here now, and soon we’ll find the reason for the curse, and somehow stop it. At least that’s our plan. I lower my skirts and smile at him, offering encouragement. “C’mon, Oh-Great-One-of-Disbelief, let’s find some shelter before it gets dark.” I hook my arm through his, content that I have enough enthusiasm for us both.

We head off in the direction of the twin peaks. Of course those buildings are too distant to reach before dark, but if we’re lucky, we’ll find a cottage, storehouse, or some other structure on the way that will offer protection. I’m guessing by the chilly air it’s going to be a freezing cold night.

We walk and keep walking as dark clouds roll over our heads, snatching any remaining light with it. The air grows even colder, and without coats we’re both feeling it and start to shiver. But at last we hear noises, the low hum of voices, and grunting, rumbling sounds.

The road leads us straight into a ramshackle village, little more than a group of huts haphazardly thrown together among a scatter of trees. The first thing I notice is the smoke. You’d think the cottages were on fire. Smoke is billowing out of holes in the top of thatched roofs, pouring out of windows. There are no chimneys.

We stand still at the sight, overwhelmed. There’s no denying it now: We are actually standing on the outskirts of a peasant village in early Britain. Not that we can tell the exact date from the cottages. Our link to the past is through the curse. We can’t say for sure when the curse was generated, we could be years before or after the event, though either should do as long as Jillian isn’t too far off the mark.

The thought that I am now living history sets my heart pounding. But I have to control my enthusiasm. This is not a game, our lives could be in danger if we get careless.

I glance up at Jarrod. His mouth is hanging open, his green eyes enormous. He looks as if he’s gone into shock. “We should find shelter,” I prod, pointing toward the third cottage on the left side of the dirt road. “It’s the only cottage that has no smoke. What do you think?”

His gaze follows my finger and I’m glad to hear he still has a voice. “Could be a trap.”

I stare at him intensely. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s expecting us.”

He seems to calm at this, hauling in a ragged breath. “Yes, of course.” He sounds embarrassed. “I suppose no one’s in it then.”

We decide to take the chance, but walking directly into the center of the village seems foolish. We’d probably be heard, and spotted too, through the wooden shutters or window openings. A dog barks from inside one of the cottages and there are muffled voices of humans and animals mixed together. We skirt silently around the small buildings.

The cottages are full of life. It’s incredible to think they are filled with people who know nothing of computerized technology, nor even running water, sewage systems, or electricity. And yet here they live. Surviving.

We edge our way around the outside of the first cottage without any trouble. There’s only one window, closed with timber shutters, which we avoid. As we approach the rear of the second cottage, we hear a distinctive male voice, gruff and too close.

Not ready to make our first appearance, we hide behind the trunk of a huge tree, probably an elm, thickly losing its leaves. As the rough voice nears, so too do other noises, scurrying sounds and angry grunts. Dirt and the scent of moist earth and grass hits my nostrils, making me want to sneeze. A short thick man with hunched shoulders and a roughly cut beard suddenly appears, panting, and cursing at a dozen or so grizzling pigs. He is apparently attempting to herd them into the cottage with a crooked wooden staff. Unfortunately for him the pigs, with minds of their own, decide they’d rather stay outside. One moment the herd veers toward the cottage opening, when all of a sudden it races around the back again.

I stop breathing in case the slightest noise gives us away. But hiding proves useless in the end, as one particularly thoughtless swine starts acting individually, and charges into our hiding tree. Both of us jump back with the impact, startled. The man’s head swivels at the sound, suddenly alert. His hunched shoulders straighten as much as they can, and the stick begins to resemble a lethal weapon.

“Who’s out there?” he calls.

Uncertainty has us tongue-tied.

“Show yourselves,” the man draws nearer, his swine, now that they aren’t being chased, gather around their master, snorting and grunting. “’Tis cold and late to be out, unless ye’re a pair of lovers delighting in a moonlight tryst.” The man glances up at the heavy bank of dark clouds totally obscuring the night sky. “’Twill rain, sure it is.”

He has almost reached us at this stage. His breathing, now that he isn’t chasing his pigs, starts slowing down. I realize this means the man has his wind back, and will be in a better position to defend himself if he feels the need.

I grab Jarrod’s hand, taking the lead. Hiding like thieves or lovers only raises this man’s suspicions. Together we step from behind the tree. “We’re weary travelers from afar.” Jarrod’s head swings to mine, his face registering surprise at my fluency of the ancient language.

The man is carrying a burning flashlight. He steps nearer, raising the flashlight to our faces. His gaze, narrow and suspicious, slides astutely over the two of us from head to foot. It has my pulse leaping wildly. Jarrod’s hand in mine is icy cold.

“Where are ye headed? Surely not this village, by the looks of them fancy clothes.”

“We’re looking for Thornton Keep.”

The man’s head lifts and turns in the direction of the dual-peaked headland, his eyes practically bulging from their sockets. “I knew it,” he mutters, his rough voice filled heavier with scorn. In a sudden gesture that takes us completely by surprise he grabs our joined hands, lifts and examines them closely. “Look at this.”

We glance alarmingly at our hands thinking they must somehow give us away. Just how much could hands change in eight hundred years?

Then he says, “Not a day’s work in either of them.” With these words he flings back our hands as if they burned his callused fingers. “What is your business with the Lord?”

Lord? This stuns us a bit. Then I remember Jillian’s warning about Jarrod’s family being wealthy and how the poorer townspeople might scorn us.

“If it’s coin ye’re after, ye’d have better luck with the devil himself.”

Jarrod’s head lifts and shifts backward. I can’t blame him. Besides rancid breath, this pigman breathes hatred, but we need information on where we can find Jarrod’s ancestors. “Can you tell us where to find Lord Thornton? We’re distant relatives.”

“Relatives!” He splutters the word as if he’s just swallowed poison. It starts sprinkling, icy cold droplets. The pigs grunt and run about again. The man curses them, but I feel it’s meant more for us. I wish now I hadn’t mentioned being a relative.

The pigman starts waving his stick about as one pig runs off, then he comes right up to Jarrod and looks him straight in the eye, even though he is well below Jarrod’s eye level. “Aye, ye have the look of them,” he mutters angrily. And then he spits, a huge gulp of steaming saliva, right in Jarrod’s face.

I am totally stunned. The pigman switches his glance to me and my reflexes have me cowering and shielding my face. I do not want this man’s spittle on me. But he doesn’t do it, he just stares, unblinking. Then he says, “Thorntyne Keep stands alone on the southern peak. And beware, the northern peak is not for strangers.”

Even though he has given us the information we need, I’m seething inside, and have to squash a growing urge to thump the barbarian, except the action might put our plans at risk. I can’t wait to get away from him and his foul breath. Jarrod finishes wiping warm saliva off his face with his tunic sleeve. My stomach lurches at the sight, glad at this moment that Jarrod is holding on to his temper, even while a part of me wishes he would release it and plant this man somewhere among his precious pigs.

The pigman turns to leave, then swings back. “If ye were naught Thorntyne blood, I would invite ye to stay the night at me hearth. Ye are not welcome. Spit on all of yours.”

With these affectionate words he starts rounding up his pigs, and this time they do almost as ordered, eventually racing round to the front of the cottage with their master.

I tug on Jarrod’s arm. He’s gone very still. I glance up into his face. Droplets of rain start gathering across his brow but he does nothing to stop them from tumbling around his eyes and down his face. And he’s shivering. “Hey!” I call. “You okay?”

“That man,” he says softly, “did you hear him?”

“Of course I heard him, I’m not deaf.”

“He hates my ancestors. No, he detests them.”

“Oh really? What gives you that idea?”

“It’s not funny, Kate.”

“I know this, Jarrod. But don’t worry so much. So the guy hates the Thorntons. Who cares? At least he told us where to find them. And we learned to add an I in the pronunciation of your ancestral name. Actually I’m beginning to feel quite pleased about all this. He may not have liked us, thanks to your ancestors, but our authenticity wasn’t questioned. That’s a real bonus.”

The rain thickens. I tug on Jarrod’s arm, leading him toward the smoke-free cottage up ahead. “Let’s find some shelter, who knows where we’ll be sleeping tomorrow night.”

Jarrod

Kate makes sense. The pig herder obviously has a hate thing going on with my ancestors. It has me wondering what kind of people they are. A lord, he said. I recall what that means. All the people in the village slave away from dawn till dusk working his fields, while he sits in a castle being waited on by servants that are probably underfed. Of course he has his part to play, overlord and protector with an army of trained knights. But only when the need arises. I guess, as my ancestors live near the Scottish border, the need might very well arise on occasion. I hope now is not one of those times.

I did a research assignment on life in the Middle Ages only last year. I found the era fascinating, all that chivalry and court romance. But I never pictured anything as poor as this village. This is the pits. There’s no romance here, definitely no chivalry. And it stinks—of sweat and smoke and sewage.

The fact that I’m actually here in the past, scurrying through the back of a medieval peasant village, confirms one thing for sure—the status of Kate’s grandmother. She really is a witch. The genuine article. One that can actually work magic. Still, I’ll have to be careful before admitting too much. Kate would soon be thinking I believe her theory about me having hidden powers. What does she call it: the gift. Sure, I accept Kate’s probably right about the curse, but that’s as far as I go. But a gift? Me? That’s absurd.

I just hope we can do our job quickly and get back home all right. Once we get rid of the curse, the link that brought us here will no longer exist. In a kind of sudden mad panic I search under my vestments for Jillian’s amulet. She stressed its importance over and over—our link home. When the time comes we have to crush the two together, joining the sap of the oldest tree to that of the youngest. I feel the small crystal. Thank goodness, I didn’t lose it during our forge with the past.